


Company & Comfort

by sweeterthanstrawberries



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Imagine, Sirius Black imagine, Sirius Black x you, Sirius x reader - Freeform, Sirius x you, Sirius/reader - Freeform, Sirius/you - Freeform, sirius black/reader - Freeform, sirius black/you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24103480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthanstrawberries/pseuds/sweeterthanstrawberries
Summary: Sirius asks to stay the night, and you find yourself as in love with him as ever.
Relationships: Sirius Black x Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 113





	Company & Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! i’ve spent a lot of time working on this, and i’m happy to finally post it! i had this in mind to take place after the events in PoA, but you can kind of put it just whenever he gets out of Azkaban. i really hope you take the time to read, and i hope you like it :D

A knock on the door startles you. You aren’t expecting anyone for dinner, dressed in only your underwear, leaving you in a rather compromising position. Padding over to the door, you peer through the peephole.

What you see startles you even more than the knock had in the first place. Disregarding any thoughts of your appearance, you swing the door open and are met face to face with none other than Sirius Black.

Your eyes are wide, and his soon become as large as saucers.

“Sirius? Is that really you?” you grab his arm and yank him into your flat.

“Y/N,” he starts, his voice rough. He doesn’t meet your eyes, and you look down, realizing all too late that you are lacking a great amount of decency.

“Stay right here,” you say as you rush to your room and throw on the first articles of clothing you find.

Coming back into the entryway in a mismatched flurry, you really look at him. His face is gaunt, rugged, thin, disheveled. His clothing is ratty and grimy. You clear your throat, making your presence known to the man you haven’t seen in over 12 years.

“Sirius,” is all you can manage to get out. With a beckoning hand, you lead him into your kitchen, gesturing for him to sit. You busy yourself, dishing up a plate of your dinner and filling a glass of water. He follows you hesitantly, but the smell of food eradicates any self control or doubt that clouds his mind.

You set the plate down in front of him, not really sure what to say.

Watching him eat, you try to keep pity from contorting your face into a grimace. He finishes quickly, and looks up at you awkwardly, mumbling a small thanks.

A beat passes.

“Would you like to shower?” you ask calmly. He only nods, not trusting his voice to come out even. Thoughts of exhaustion almost keep him from agreeing, but the desire to be clean overrules.

You move away from the countertop you were leaning against and walk through the halls, Sirius trailing behind you. You open the door to the modest bathroom adorned with a small shower and an even smaller bathtub.

Turning to face the man who has barely said more to you than your name, you start, “Why don’t you take those off,” gesturing to his patched up jumpsuit, “and hop in the shower to rinse. I’ll fill up the bathtub,” you trail off before you can admit to him that you don’t think he can stand long enough to wash himself.

Wordlessly, he begins to shuck off the tattered fabric while you turn your back, twisting the nozzle to the shower. Cascades of water patter on the tiles, slowly heating up under your outstretched hand. With a glance over your shoulder, you tell him that the water is ready. His tattooed skin clings to his bones in a way that looks painful. Your heart tugs in your chest, evoking a sadness you didn’t know was in you.

Casting your eyes to the floor, you move out of his way. He steps into the shower as you begin to fill the tub.

Sirius stays in the shower until the water runs clear. He can barely hold himself upright for long, the travel and exhaustion catching up with him under the relaxing spray of hot water.

You tap on the glass and call out, “Sirius, the bath is ready when you are.”

The water shuts off, and you busy yourself gathering shampoos and soaps as he steps into the bath. You perch on the edge of a stool behind his shoulders once he is settled in. His hair hangs in matted curls, dark and wiry.

You pour a dollop of shampoo into your palm and begin to lather it in his hair. His body immediately tenses, and he darts away from the contact. A small gasp escapes you, and a string of apologies are mumbled.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters before leaning back to let you continue your efforts. You work your fingers through his hair, gently tugging out the knots and tangles. Cupping the water in your hands, you draw the water over his head, down his shoulders.

Sirius can’t help but let his head lull back into your hands. His eyes grow heavy, and he finds it more and more difficult to stay awake, your touch coaxing him into a slumber.

You can feel Sirius’ head tilt back, resting in your hands, figuring that he must be falling asleep. You reach over to the counter and grab a bar of soap. You begin to wash down his arms, scrubbing away layers of grime that ease away from his skin the more you continue your ministrations. You try to be gentle so as not to wake him.

Taking one of his hands, you study his tattoos. You lace your hand in his, lathering the soap between his fingers. He stirs at the feeling, opening his eyes long enough to make contact with yours.

You pull your hand away, but he takes it back, gripping it harder than before. He closes his eyes again, chin sagging slightly to his chest.

A long time ago, you had a crush on a handsome Gryffindor troublemaker. The man sitting before you is not that boy anymore. Years of torment have changed him, but you still find yourself drawn to him, caring more than ever.

You wonder how he got your address. You moved here only months ago, but you decide to ask him about that later. Untangling your fingers from his, you sneak out of the bathroom to grab some clothes for Sirius.

Jumpers and sweats that once belonged to your brother’s closet have not returned home for a long while. You snag some from your drawers and quietly place them by the sink. You give Sirius a gentle shake, offer him a towel, and instruct him to change and brush his teeth with the spare toothbrush you left on the counter beside the clothes. He only nods in acknowledgement, and you slip out the door.

***

A choked moan wakes you from your sleep. The sound of half-hearted screams that come out as strangled cries flood your room. You glance at the clock and note that it is four in the morning.

The cries are replaced by heart wrenching sobs. You pull the covers back and pad into the kitchen, filling a glass of water. You stop in front of his door and softly knock.

No response.

You open the door and find Sirius curled on the bed, sheets at his feet, his hair sticking to his forehead, glistening with sweat. He sits up, bleary eyed, when he hears you come in. Embarrassed and ashamed, Sirius doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Y/N, I-” he croaks out, voice breaking. You shush him, handing him the cool glass of water. You sit on the side of the bed he isn’t occupying. You don’t ask him about his dream, putting the pieces together well enough.

Wordlessly, you lay back on the bed. You take the unused pillow and curl up, almost immediately falling back asleep.

Sirius watches you, silently grateful that you don’t ask questions or try to fix him. You know that he wouldn’t want that, so you provide what you think he needs. Company. Comfort.

You fall asleep so quickly, you don’t notice the way Sirius stares. He looks at you, seeing the young woman that he fell in love with all those years ago. The woman he wants to love now. He knows that he shouldn’t stay long, and the thought is heartbreaking.

‘ _Just one day_ ’ he reasons, settling back down in the bed, falling asleep with you laying beside him.

***

You wake up next to a sleeping Sirius. He lays on his side, facing you. He looks peaceful. Relaxed. You don’t dare move, knowing that anything will startle him awake, and the chances of him leaving after breakfast are high. You want to appreciate the moments you have with the man you once loved and since worried about for twelve years.

His features are but a mere reflection of the man you knew. His cheeks are hollow, his eyes sunken and baggy. His lips only allow the ghost of a smile to tug at the corners.

You see his eyes start to flutter open, so you take this as your cue to leave the bed and find a change of clothes for Sirius. Exiting the room, you let out a deep breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Grabbing a set of clothes from your drawers, you make your way back to Sirius’ room. He is sitting up on the side of the bed, eyes boring into the carpet.

“Here are some more clothes,” you say, holding up the t-shirt and jeans in your hand for him to see.

He looks at you and blurts, “I didn’t do it.”

Confusion ripples across your face, but you come to realize exactly what he means.

He didn’t kill those people.

“I know, Sirius,” you whisper. He looks shocked, almost incredulous. But you did know. “I’ve thought a lot about this. Gone back and forth. I just know you didn’t.”

He doesn’t say anything. The air is tense, but you manage a smile and tell him to change and that you’ll be in the kitchen, waiting to eat breakfast.

You sit in the kitchen for a few minutes, thinking about the conversation you just had with Sirius. Lost in your thoughts, you hardly notice him staggering in. He is clean and wearing proper clothes. A glimpse of the man you knew begins to reappear for a fleeting moment.

“Whose clothes are these anyway?” Sirius asks as he takes a seat in the chair that he ate dinner in the night before.

You laugh, the sound ringing through the room. “They were my brother’s. Whenever I go to his house, I always try to nick something from his closet. I hardly think he notices.”

A small smile forms on his lips, but it does not quite reach his eyes.

Over your bowl of cereal, you write on a piece of yellowing parchment a letter to your employee at the bookstore, explaining that you have contracted a rather nasty stomach bug. You tell her to run the shop on her own for today, but most likely for the rest of the week too. You don’t know how long Sirius plans on staying, so you don’t specify when you will be back to work. After tying the note to your owl, you send it out the window.

Silence settles over the two of you as you call the cereal forward with a flick of your wand. The sound of crunching becomes awkward very quickly.

“I would ask what you have been up to, but I feel like that would be wildly inappropriate,” you say, trying to keep your tone light. You feel like a total idiot when the words come out of your mouth, realizing just _how_ inappropriate it was to even joke about the impropriety.

Sirius chokes on his cereal, splutters, then starts to laugh. His laugh is raspy and full. You duck your head in an effort to hide your blush. You spew out mumbled apologies, rambling on how uncalled for that was.

“Well,” Sirius guffaws. “I’ve been pretty good,” he says sarcastically with a playful tone. “I ate a whole meal last night and took an overdue shower, so I’d say I’m on the way up.”

Sirius takes in your bashful state and smiles a little wider.

“I’m such an idiot,” you voice. He only chuckles softly at your self deprecation, knowing that he offers himself those same words rather frequently.

You turn back to your cereal and silence. Sirius glances over his bowl at you, noting how your hand covers your eyes, still embarrassed. He wants to say something, anything.

“So what have you been up to? Or is it inappropriate to ask?” he teases. You shake your head and let out a breathy laugh. This is the old Sirius that you knew. Clever and witty.

“No, oh gosh. I, uh, I own a bookstore,” you say, lifting your eyes to meet his twinkling ones. His face is still sunken and gaunt, but a small flicker of humor and life has been rekindled since you opened the door last night.

“You always did have a book in your hands at school,” he hums. Heat creeps up your neck over the fact that he could recall the memory so easily.

“I sent a note to the store, telling them that I won’t be in today,” you explain, diverting the conversation from your time at Hogwarts. Today is not going to be the day you admit your feelings to him.

He nods his head, a half smile on his lips. He knows he should tell you that you didn’t have to do that, but he is selfish and wants to spend the day with you.

You barely leave his side the entire day. Frequently, you ask him if he wants to eat something. He almost always agrees. Twinges of guilt pang at Sirius. He is sorry that he is eating all your food and taking up your time, but you seem so happy to help, he can hardly feel bad.

You wonder if you are following him around too much, fawning and fussing over him like a puppy dog.

He stays the night, falling asleep quickly after showering again. You are woken up in the night by his cries. Following the same routine, you get a glass of water and doze off to sleep across from Sirius. He is grateful for your attention and care. He knows he shouldn’t overstay his welcome, so after breakfast the next morning, he walks out the door, whispering a soft good-bye.

***

You know you shouldn’t be here. You don’t work for the Ministry. You don’t consider yourself an expert witch that deserves a place next to those who actively fight. Yet, you can’t help but want to do something. The prospect of spending time with Sirius also encourages you to knock on the door.

Sirius kept in touch with you after his stint at your house. He sent his address with Remus, just in case you ever wanted to stop by. You didn’t dare take him up on it. However, time passed, and the gnawing, pecking desire kept cawing at you to go see him.

You raise your hand to the black wood and knock. Nothing happens at first, but you hear a piercing scream come from inside the house. You panic.

You turn to flee, sure that something is seriously wrong, but the door flies open, stopping you. Sirius Black stands on the other side of the threshold with his hair cleanly cut and clothing well fitted and nice. A different man stands before you today than the one who knocked on your door two years before.

“Hi,” you breathe.

“You finally showed up,” he says with a teasing tone. “Come in, please.” He motions you in the house, placing a hand on the small of your back as you walk through the door. “I’m sorry I can’t welcome you in the same fashion you did,” he muses with a smirk.

Your feel as though a hot iron was being branded on your cheeks. You shake your head, thoroughly embarrassed. You curse your thoughtlessness and the effect that Sirius has on you.

***

Creeping into the library, your jaw drops at the number of books crammed in corners and piled on desks. You wander about the room, pressing your fingertips to the spines of the leather bound books. You gingerly pull out a dark green book, embossed with golden writing, naming the work _The Cruelty of Cursed Objects_. Pondering the title, you carefully put the rather thick volume back on the shelf, hoping it isn’t cursed itself.

Grabbing the book beside it, titled _The History of Wand Making_ , you figure that it has to be safer than the possibly cursed book on curses. You make your way to the dark, sunken couch that lets out a mysterious wheezing sound and cloud of dust when you sit down.

Opening the book on your lap, you begin to read. You get more and more drowsy, finding it harder and harder to focus on the experimentation of sphynx mane hairs in wands the later it gets. Soon enough, you are slouched over, head resting on the odd smelling couch, book splayed over your chest.

Sirius knows of your fondness for books. He remembers how much time you spent in the library at school and how often he made unnecessary trips to the shelves to get a glimpse of you with your nose in the spine of a hefty novel.

Opening the library door softly, he finds you sound asleep on the couch with a large book resting on your body. Sirius chuckles quietly and goes to find a blanket. He drapes the fabric over your form after removing the book carefully from your chest.

“Oh, Y/N,” he whispers. He brushes the hair covering your face behind your ear. “I miss you. I-” he stops, seeing you stir slightly. You only shift positions, still dormant.

Sirius smiles to himself and sits down on the rather grimy armchair across from your sleeping form. He shakes his head, muttering to himself how much of a fool he is. Before he realizes, Sirius is fast asleep, awkwardly arranged in the uncomfortable chair.

You blink your eyes open, focusing on the form of a man wedged in a tattered armchair across the couch you fell asleep on. You quickly recognize the man as Sirius. He must have found you in the library reading. You pull a blanket off of your shoulders, scrunching your eyebrows, not remembering having it before you fell asleep.

Stretching your arms above your head, you groan softly at the stiffness of your muscles, unhappy with the uncomfortable way in which you slept. You hear Sirius mumbling something in his sleep.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” you ask yourself. You shake your head, smiling slightly at the way Sirius’ head is tilted, making his hair fall in his eyes. He is more attractive than ever with his pink lips and high cheekbones.

You quietly stand up and ease the door open, trying not to wake Sirius from his slumber.

***

The sound of the door opening startles you, causing you to drop the large book you were holding with a loud thud. Your eyes whip to the door, finding Sirius standing there, his hand still resting on the knob.

“Oh, it’s just you,” you say quietly. Sirius smirks and slowly walks toward you, bending down to pick up the book you dropped in your moment of fright.

“Just me,” he repeats, handing the book to you.

“I really like your library,” you announce in an effort to find something to talk about.

“I always found it rather dull,” Sirius replies jovially. “I got bit by one of the books as a kid, and have since lost my taste for the room.” He looks at you with a genuine smile which you subconsciously reflect.

“I found a suspicious volume on curses the other day,” you offer, mirth in your voice.

He lets out a laugh that comes out more as a hum.

“I wanted to thank you again for letting me stay at your house,” he says while taking a step toward you. You stand your ground, enjoying the close proximity he put the two of you in.

“Of course, Sirius. You are welcome any time,” your voice wavers ever so slightly, and you hope he doesn’t catch it. He does. Sirius smiles a little wider, pleased that he has any effect on you.

“I never told you how I got your address,” he says, taking another half step.

“Oh, uh,” your words fail you, noting how you can smell his husky cologne.

“Remus gave it to me,” he offers simply.

You hum, nodding your head, trying to keep your thoughts focused on his words rather than the way his lips move. You give your head a slight shake and look into his eyes.

“Sirius, I,” you pause, “I want you to know that I’ve always liked you.”

“Well, I’d hope so. I showed up at your house, counting on that fact,” he says jokingly.

You give a short laugh, tempted to just let that be the end of it. But after all these years, you feel that he deserves to know.

“Yes, fine, but I don’t mean it like that,” you say softly, reaching to grab his tattooed hand in yours. “Sirius, I’ve been in love with you for years.”

You let out a deep breath, staring at his hand resting in your palm. His other hand reaches to lift your chin, meeting your eyes together.

Wordlessly, Sirius leans in and brushes his lips to yours. You suck in a breath. His breath. Palms cup your cheeks gently and guide your lips to his.

He leads the kiss, moving his mouth slowly. You find his stomach with your hands, pressing into the fabric before gliding your fingers up his chest, into his hair. The kisses grow more passionate. You dive deeper into his ocean, and you let yourself get consumed by the waves.

Pressing you into the shelves by your hips, his tongue licks into your mouth. You feel a moan echo from his throat to yours.

“I’ve loved you,” he stops his mumbling to press a kiss to your jaw, “since that day you crashed into that desk,” a kiss to your neck, “because your nose was,” a laugh against your skin, “shoved in a book.”

Heat licks up your neck, burning your cheeks. “I didn’t think anyone saw that,” you mutter, shaking your head. Sirius stands up to look at you, grinning at the sight of your disheveled, flushed appearance.

“I love you,” he sighs.

“I’ve wanted to hear that for so long,” you whisper softly before kissing his lips one more time.


End file.
